


But I Have Promises to Keep

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Churches & Cathedrals, Jack as the mysterious stranger yet again, M/M, Mark of Cain, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Harkstiel Holiday Advent. Castiel can't do Christmas at the Winchester table when the Mark of Cain makes for a dark, undeniable dinner guest. Wallowing in grief and self-pity, he escapes into nowhere, and - surprise, surprise - stumbles on a holy place. Angels don't do holy days, but with the help of a stranger who somehow knows his name, Castiel might find a little solace in human traditions after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Have Promises to Keep

Prompt: Holy Days

Angels don't have holy days. As the emblems and executors of God's will, all days are holy. They celebrated the birth of the Christ, as they celebrated the creation of the Earth and the triumph of Heaven over Lucifer, but… not really in a fashion to which the term 'party' might be attached. Lord knew Castiel watched his share of Christmas parties, and the fallout: fights, hangovers, estranged relatives, lost jobs, unwanted pregnancies, drunken accidents; emotional heartbreak and physical trauma of all hues along the spectrum.

He took a dim view of the whole thing.

The Winchesters were usually working, on or around Christmas, and that suited Castiel. Whether they took an active case, or hustled pool and poker to make the next meal, they were entertaining and a welcome distraction from the profusion of tinsel and overeating. This year's holiday; however, promised to be different. Something changed in Dean that went beyond the purification of his soul - something positive in all the chaos. The gentler side of him was awake again: the humor and hope alive that made Castiel love his soul so deeply. Dean was restless, hungry for violence, and wanted to hunt. But he was fighting it, tooth and nail, and clung to Christmas traditions that weren't his. The Mark of Cain was red on his forearm like a burn. Its pulse of raw magic overshadowed the table, and the overlarge dinner Castiel could not eat.

He thought of Hannah's sacrifice to relinquish her vessel. Caroline was likely at a table just like this, safe with her husband again in the circle of her family. He thought of his own vessel, and the abandoned daughter who'd tumbled through countless foster homes. It was far too late now for Jimmy Novak. Castiel's vessel was an empty sack, the soul long fled, life too damaged by his absence to repair - and for what? The man he'd taken Jimmy to save wore the mark of original evil, and he had no way to pull Dean out of that. The plans for which Castiel needed Jimmy were ashes years ago. In a short time, Castiel would die, as this newly stolen grace guttered like a low candle in a winter window. So much pointless tragedy. Castiel sucked fruitlessly for air beneath its weight. The Mark's ugly thrum eventually drove him out of the room, and he ignored the eyes on his back as he walked away. They knew him. They knew he'd be back. If they didn't and were hurt by his disappearance, what was one more wound among the many he'd given them both?

Castiel drove without quite knowing where he was going. His car felt too large without Hannah's company. He knew that he ought to turn around, that these dramatics changed nothing.

His phone hummed. He didn't answer.

At an intersection just inside Lebanon, a black Jeep ran a stop sign and cut him off. Castiel braked in time, sparing the vehicle and its ill-mannered driver a sullen glare as his eyes followed it down the lane. Its vanishing taillights led him to gaze on the steeple of a cathedral, glowing gold against the night. Loneliness and pain broke over Castiel in a wave, and he turned right for the church without really meaning to.

Holy places were where Castiel felt closest to his Father. He knew God walked the Earth somewhere, albeit not where. The purity and strength of consecrated ground made him feel connected, and he hoped - foolish and angry at himself - that his Father sat amid the gathering for Christmas mass. Castiel took a seat in the furthest pew and bent his head.

The priest spoke of Christ's birth and the miracle of God on Earth. A choir of adolescent women sang "Mary, Did You Know?" and Castiel prayed. Eyes closed tight, surrounded by the faithful, he found the doubt and pain of isolation welling up as it hadn't in five years. He sent his Father a silent plea for help, forehead resting in the palm of his hand.

His free hand was suddenly taken up. Castiel started and pulled back, to find a stranger beside him, watching him with pity. He was handsome, as humans went, blue-eyed, dimpled and broad shouldered. His smile was generous and warm, and maybe… maybe that was sympathy, rather than the pity Castiel chose to see. The stranger said nothing, but offered his hand again, palm up.

Castiel thought to refuse. But other people held hands now, at the priest's request, and a little dark-eyed boy had his hand out in invitation across the back of his pew. In the end, Castiel took both. Long after the little boy let go and turned back to his parents, the strange man kept Castiel's hand in his. A few times throughout the service, Castiel considered withdrawing. But the touch was balm somehow. He hadn't realized his hunger for companionship until he felt the soft sweep of the stranger's thumb over his knuckles. Humans showed solidarity in such tiny, delicate ways.

A ten-year-old attendant in a red Rudolph sweater peddled candles from her basket. They each took one, the thin wax tapers pushed through dixie cups printed with holly. Castiel retrieved his hand, then, but found himself wanting to reach out as the stranger lit his candle from the pew ahead and offered the fire in turn. Here, the stranger's eyes seemed to say, I see yours is out. Have some of mine. The symbol of humanity and faith in the flame was on Castiel's lips; surged in his heart, but he said nothing. Instead, Castiel held up his candle in its paper cup, the wick catching and lighting from the stranger's fire. The congregation sang "Silent Night," somehow more beautiful for the two dozen amateur voices following the priest's soft guitar. The stranger proved to have a beautiful voice. Eyes closed, face uplifted, Castiel took this moment of pleasure for himself.

When the service was over, the stranger stayed, until they were the last two in the sanctuary. "Captain Jack Harkness," the stranger said - foreign no more - and offered the hand again that he'd wrapped around Castiel's.

Castiel took it, cautious. He nodded. "My name is… Clarence," he finished after a moment of hesitation, and that rucked up a fresh, familiar ache. "Thank you, for your kindness tonight."

"Lonely Christmas for you?"

"Only because I insist," Castiel replied with a shrug, "I'm being… stupid. And I'm inconveniencing you," he added, "I'm certain you have other places to be tonight."

Jack shook his head. "Not a one," he said, smiling again as if lonely Christmases weren't newsworthy for him, "Forgive me for throwing in my two cents, but don't ever confuse pain for anything else. You looked like you had a lot on your mind, earlier. I wouldn't call that stupid."

"Ungrateful, then," Castiel amended, "I left two good friends and an elaborate meal to come here and be miserable."

"Well," Jack shrugged, "You know it, and I know it."

They sat together in silence for a few minutes more. Castiel thought about going to one of the banks of votives and lighting candles - for Jimmy, for Claire, for broken Amelia, for Daphne and Meg and— Jack gently brought their hands together again. He touched, spreading his fingers, and Castiel let his own slip between. "What's making you miserable," Jack began, "is it something you can change?"

"Not yet," Castiel admitted, "and some of it… no."

"In the future?"

"Yes. I want to make it better."

"But you can't right now?"

Castiel's eyes slid away. "No."

Jack's chin lifted; Castiel's subconsciously followed. "Make a plan, and do it when you can," Jack said, "but regret over the things you can't fix - it'll burn you from the inside, Castiel. Speaking from experience, here. You don't have any choice, you've got to move forward. Giving up, it's…" he squeezed Castiel's hand, "it's a disservice to everyone you've hurt. You learn and you go on."

Silence strung out between them, as Castiel absorbed this. When he rose at last, they rose together, and Castiel withdrew his hand. "Thank you, Captain Jack Harkness. You've been… more than kind."

Jack shrugged with a self-effacing grin. "You seemed worth the trouble."

Castiel sighed and was about to argue, when his memory chimed a warning bell. "You called me Castiel, earlier."

"Did I?" Jack replied lightly. Castiel took a step away.

"Who are you?" He demanded. Something flashed in Jack's eyes - pain? Longing? - but it was gone in a moment. Again, he shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat.

"Someone who cares," he said, "I can't tell you anymore than that. I'm skirting a line as it is."

Reaching for his blade, Castiel backed out into the aisle. "Why are you here?"

Rather than pursue him, Jack began backing up. Towards the other end of the pew. "To make sure you went right. Go home, Clarence," he added, and Castiel felt like a horse slapped out of a corral, "your friends need you more than you know."

Something about the moment - the look in Jack's eyes, the way he held himself so carefully away - pushed Castiel out of the cathedral. He ran, and as he exited into the parking lot and the layer of fresh snow, he nearly tripped over the bulk of a shiny black Jeep. He stood at the fender and stared, eyes wide, heart racing. When he turned, Jack was standing at the steps of the cathedral, watching him.

"Jack?" Castiel said uncertainly. Jack plunged towards him. Before Castiel knew what was happening, he found himself wrapped up in Jack's arms. 

"Don't say it like that, Castiel," Jack's voice tore out on a sob, "you always say it like that."

They were kissing in a moment. Jack's mouth was hungry and hot, and Castiel responded to the passion in it. It reached deep, filling a craving for contact and desire he hadn't missed until now. He didn't know what to do, and then he didn't want to pull away. In the end, he didn't need to. Jack stepped away from him first.

"Please go," Jack begged, "go home."

"Will I see you again?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," Jack replied, when the hood of the Jeep was between them. His eyes were red. "I hope so. Promise me you'll go."

Castiel watched Jack - someone who had been a stranger two hours ago, someone whose Jeep nearly sent his car into the ditch - and a few pieces fell into place. He knew about time travel. He didn't know this man, but there was no scent of evil on him. And when Castiel looked at him with his Other sight—

—Jack glowed with life and power like a small sun, and he was very, very old.

"I promise," Castiel said.

He went back. Back to Dean, whom he'd promised to kill if things went badly. Back to Sam, frightened of the Mark and frightened for his brother, but determined to save them all. Back to the life that would kill him, more than likely, to do what he could to change things, and learn and move on from the wounds he could not heal.

He'd promised.


End file.
